


Mr Norrell's Fourth Explanation

by Nefertiti_22002



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Syntactical confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:52:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nefertiti_22002/pseuds/Nefertiti_22002
Summary: Mr Strange wishes to fuck Mr Norrell. Mr Norrell seeks an explanation for this inexplicable desire. Jesting? Magic gone wrong? Lingering madness?





	Mr Norrell's Fourth Explanation

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to a prompt by Ivee at 404error-user-not-found.tumblr.com: "IMAGINE YOUR OTP: Person A is sitting on the bottom of the stairs. Person B is sitting on the stair above. Suddenly Person B inches closer to Person A and whispers into their ear ... 'Fuck you.'"

In the library at Hurtfew Abbey, about two weeks after the Disenchantment that had led to the freeing of Arabella Strange from her captivity in the lair of the gentleman with the thistle-down hair and the apparent death of that dreaded Fairy, Mr Norrell was seated quite informally on the lowest step of the largest of his rolling staircases, and Mr Strange was seated on the next step up.

The pair were conducting research into Fairy curses, for they wished to know the nature of the Dark Tower in which Mr Strange and subsequently Mr Norrell had been imprisoned. They held out little hope that they could find a spell that would release them from the Darkness, and Mr Norrell was not entirely desirous of their doing so, but they felt they should search the relevant literature just in case such a thing existed. To this end, Mr Norrell had agreed that they should read the books in the section he had previously considered “dangerous” and “forbidden” to everyone but himself—and even he had dipped into these books with considerable caution.

For two days now they had been systematically going through the shelves in this section, occasionally making notes or remarking to each other on intriguing passages. They had learned many things about Faerie, though so far nothing concerning pillars of Darkness. Occasionally Mr Norrell would use his feet to propel the staircase slightly backward so that he could reach a volume behind him. When he wished to go forward, the two needed to stand up and pull the staircase. At times one would rise and mount upward a step or two to reach a book on a higher shelf, but they always returned to sit on the two lowest steps while reading. In part they did so in order to share the light of an elaborate silver lamp with three elegant glass chimneys, fueled by whale oil, which Mr Norrell had inherited from his uncle. They also felt a certain comfort seated near each other, being less isolated within the pervasive gloom.

Mr Norrell saw an additional advantage in the fact that Mr Strange’s feet rested on the tread where he was seated. That is, Mr Norrell was off-centre to the left on his tread and Mr Strange to the right on his, so that the latter’s legs were directly beside Mr Norrell’s right arm. Thus Mr Norrell was able to enjoy from close up those beautifully shaped legs in their tight stockings. This view was distracting, to be sure, but Mr Norrell considered this problem quite minor in comparison to the benefit gained. 

It was difficult to tell time precisely within the Darkness, since all the clocks had stopped when it arrived, but it was perhaps the equivalent of nine o’clock in the evening when Mr Strange stopped reading and regarded the back of his friend’s neck and wig with a rather mischievous little smile. He, too, had been acutely aware of the pleasurable proximity of the other magician to him in this situation—a fact that would have considerably startled Mr Norrell had he been aware of it. He inched slightly closer to the older magician and whispered in his ear, “Fuck you.”

Mr Norrell sat up, his eyes wide, and stared into the dark room before him. He stirred and looked down at the book in his hands, which he had slightly twisted in his surprise. He carefully drew the silk-ribbon bookmark out of its current place and laid it down in the gutter of the book, placing it back in the shelf where it belonged, though sticking out slightly from the other carefully aligned ones so that he could easily find it again.

Once the book was safe, Mr Norrell rose and turned to face his friend. “Mr Strange! You have no call to insult me in such a fashion. I may not be a man of the world and I do not use such language myself, but I well know that what you have just said is a very rude insult indeed! I was just sitting here quietly. We were working pleasantly together, as we have for days now. At least, so I thought. And now you smile at me as if nothing untoward has happened. What have I done to warrant such abuse?”

Mr Strange gazed at him rather goofily. “Oh, just being yourself, sweet, adorable, cuddly …”

“Oh!” Mr Norrell could think of nothing more to say but looked at him in alarm. What could Mr Strange be implying? “Sweet” and “adorable” and “cuddly” hardly seemed to fit with what Mr Strange had said. He frowned briefly, thinking back reluctantly to the short but horrible … well, what was it, that little two-word something that Mr Strange has spoken to him, when you came right down to it? Seemingly an imperative independent clause, on the face of it. Perform an action to a direct object. Yet the syntax of it seemed to make no sense. As he, admittedly rather vaguely, understood the word “fuck,” it had something to do with an unmentionable amorous act, and yet how could “you” (that is he himself, the understood subject, “you,” of an imperative construction) fuck (that is, perform said act) upon himself? “Fuck” hardly seemed plausible as a reflexive verb, for such a thing surely was not possible. 

On the other hand, if Mr Strange had been speaking rather loosely, with less syntactical precision than Mr Norrell usually expected from him, at least during their professional endeavours, the implied subject of his sentence might have been someone other than he, Mr Norrell, himself. And there was only one other person in the room. In which case, the direct object would still be he himself. Mr Norrell gulped. Taking a rather irregular view of the clause’s syntax, the two words might make sense if … but no, he dared not hope … though as he recalled those words, they had been said in a tone that was decidedly far from belligerent. Surely, though, he was too optimistically construing them in retrospect. 

“But, uh, why would you say such a thing to me?” he replied nervously.

Jonathan goofy grin relaxed into a rather pleasant smile, one which would undoubtedly have charmed Mr Norrell under less sensitive circumstances, secretly in love with Mr Strange as he was and had been for nearly eight years. “Because that’s what I want to do to you,” he replied.

Mr Norrell attempted to remain calm. That certainly seemed to explain what Mr Strange had meant. It was definitely the second possibility, the loose grammatical construction with Mr Strange as the implied subject, “fuck” as the active verb, and he himself as the object. Ah, if only that were what Mr Strange truly wanted! But that could not possibly be the case. 

There were three explanations that he could think of. Mr Norrell explored the simplest first.

He put on a forced smile. “Surely you jest, Mr Strange. After all, I am not particularly attractive.”

“Oh, but you have become more and more so during our time in the Darkness.”

“Solely because I am your only option.”

“Well … perhaps that is part of the reason, I grant you. But then again, I am your only option as well.”

Mr Norrell was not sure whether Mr Strange intended this remark as a joke. After all, with Mr Strange available, who would need another option? Mr Strange was so fond of jokes and apparently told them frequently. Mr Norrell just wished he knew when Mr Strange was telling one, so that he could smile, chuckle or even laugh appropriately. In this case, as a compromise, he maintained his little noncommittal smile.

Mr Strange went on, “Do you not find me attractive, perhaps increasingly so?”

Mr Norrell replied nervously but sincerely, “You are a very handsome man, Mr Strange. Any one would agree with that assessment. You could hardly grow more so over time.”

“Ah, so you do find me attractive!”

“That was not what I—”

“No, it was not what you said, exactly, but there was something about your tone of voice that spoke volumes, sir. As I say, I find you quite adorable and attractive, and I might add, alluring, endearing, delightful and so much more. Beyond that, I suspect that you wish to go to bed with me.”

Mr Norrell gaped at him. “I? Whatever gave you that—that is, I would … never allow myself to have … a-amorous congress with a married individual!”

“Ah, what you wish and what you would allow yourself to do may quite possibly be two different things, and I believe in this case they are. Well, as I am cut off from my wife, perhaps permanently, and as our marriage had become progressively less joyous over the years, I think I can relieve your conscience of that burden.”

Mr Norrell became even more nervous. “Really, Mr Strange?”

Mr Strange leaned slightly forward, looked him straight in the eyes for several long seconds and replied with a single firm nod, “Really, Mr Norrell.”

Mr Norrell began to pace, avoiding Mr Strange’s eyes, which were so very beautiful and bewitching. The first explanation appeared not to be the correct one. Mr Strange might have been a trifle giddy when he listed the attributes he found appealing in Mr Norrell, but he did not appear to be teazing. Yet what was actually behind his sudden lust? It seemed far too wonderful to be natural. After all, there were still those other two explanations.

“Mr Strange, might we go over and sit on the sopha and have some madeira-wine and talk over your remarkable and sudden desire?”

Mr Strange sighed. “Well, if that is what it takes for you to listen to me and realize that I am quite serious in what I said, then yes, let’s. In fact,” he added more cheerfully, “that might be the perfect prelude to the sort of romantic activities I have in mind.” 

Mr Norrell poured them two small glasses of madeira-wine and, giving one to Mr Strange, sat beside him on the sopha. Mr Strange rose and moved to the drinks table, topping up his glass to the brim, taking a swig and returning to sit by Mr Norrell.

There was a moment of silence before Mr Norrell sipped his wine and said as calmly as he could, which was quite calmly, considering that he wanted nothing more than to let Mr Strange strip off his, Mr Norrell’s, clothes and allow him, Mr Strange, to do exactly what he had claimed to want to do, “Mr Strange, might you have been performing some little magic spell recently, one concerning which you did not consult with me in advance—or afterward? One which you perhaps have performed before and been perfectly confident about, but which went wrong just this once? Or one which you might have read in a book and, without consciously doing so, whispered aloud?”

Mr Strange, who had slid quite close to Mr Norrell and stretched his arm to rest on the top of the sopha behind the older magician, making the latter blush bright pink and wish to lean back against that arm, again looked deeply into his eyes and replied with some finality, “No.”

Oh, but those eyes were bewitching! Mr Norrell realized that his heart was beating at a more rapid rate than usual and that he was panting slightly. He struggled to pull himself together. “Are you sure? Just a little spell to ease a household task, which you might have pronounced wrongly?”

“Yes, I realize that the magical spell gone wrong is a theme that we meet with in dozens, perhaps hundreds of anecdotes of Faerie—often, of course, the more comic ones. Some of the unintended results in the bawdier stories are of the nature that you seem to believe I might have inadvertently caused today.

“I know that in my early days of studying with you, I made occasional mistakes in casting spells, as is only to be expected, though none of them had an effect of a ribald sort. Yet I assure you that such a mistake is not involved here. Remember, I am a far more experienced magician than when I was your pupil or even when you last saw me two years ago. I may not be quite your equal, and perhaps I never will match you, but I am hardly so naïve as to let such things happen. Believe me, my desire has nothing to do with magic gone awry.”

Mr Norrell was still skeptical, but he had to admit that there was no lingering aura of magic about Mr Strange. Moreover, during their times together, Mr Strange had never performed a magic spell without consulting him, and he was quite correct in saying that he had returned from Venice far more skilled than before. And then there was his book, THE HISTORY AND PRACTICE OF ENGLISH MAGIC, a work that revealed a profound understanding of its subject. 

No, Mr Strange’s sudden fit of passion seemed not to have resulted from magic. There was only the third explanation left, which was unfortunately the most difficult to cope with.

Mr Norrell took a deep breath. “Mr Strange, I had hoped that as time passed after the terrible and wonderful night of the Disenchantment two weeks ago, the madness that you deliberately induced in yourself while in Venice in your ill-advised desire to summon for yourself a Fairy servant might have left your mind entirely. Now this new admission of a highly unlikely desire leads me to fear that I was, alas, wrong. You have not lost all vestiges of that madness.”

Jonathan looked at him in blank surprise. “On the contrary, sir! I feel marvelously free of the confusion, the terrifying visions and the delusional hopes that I experienced while in Venice. Releasing Bell from her enchantment and being here in peace with you have helped to rid me of them entirely.”

“Oh, no, Mr Strange! Your sudden inexplicable desire for some one distinctly older and less handsome and, whatever you may say, less alluring than you must arise from that madness. I see no other explanation. I suggest that you desist in your pursuit of magic for a while. I can work on my own while you relax your efforts and pursue other interests. To lounge on the sopha and read some of the books that do not concern magic. Art or, um, poetry, perhaps. You might care to stroll about the park.” He thought desperately. What might people who are not utterly absorbed in the study of magic do? “Perhaps I could join you in a pleasant game of cribbage, which I recall your remarking that you found an engaging pastime. I do not actually know how to play cribbage, never having had the leisure for it, but I’m sure it cannot be—” 

“Sir! I do not require such distraction, for I am not suffering from the remnants of that bout of madness that I suffered in Venice. I wish I could make you believe that I need no such reason to desire you! But if it will convince you, I shall do what you wish. I shall rest and stroll and read wholly uninteresting books and teach you cribbage. I have no doubt, however, that while and after doing so I shall feel exactly the same urge.” He leaned over and said in a low, rough voice in Mr Norrell’s ear, “I shall still want to fuck you.”

“Oh, my good Lord!” Mr Norrell said, pressing a hand to his chest. He quickly recovered himself. “Fine, then you will rest, and I shall continue to work ... and learn cribbage. There is no great haste in our endeavours after all. The primary concern is that you should rid yourself of this most peculiar passion that you have conceived.” He sighed regretfully. If only that passion were genuine!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Over the next few days Mr Strange lounged upon the sopha against numerous cushions, his legs propped up, a light blanket draped over him, with ample food and drink to hand, along with a stack of harmless, non-magical books, on a low table beside him. A goodly blaze snapped and flickered in the fireplace, and to the casual observer it would appear that he could hardly want for any thing. Still, at intervals his eyes strayed from the pages he was supposedly reading, focusing on the curves of Mr Norrell’s buttocks as they were suggestively revealed when he leaned over his desk and his breeches clung to them and the tails of his jacket parted to reveal them.

“God, I want to fuck you,” he whispered softly at such moments. At other times Mr Norrell would look at him and look away quickly, flushing bright pink. “And you want me to fuck you,” Mr Strange would murmur with a smile and an upward flick of his eyebrows.

Mr Norrell’s conceit that Mr Strange was still slightly mad persisted for three days. At meals Mr Norrell was highly solicitous, helping his friend to put food on his plate and limiting his access to strong drink. Mr Norrell questioned him on his stay in Venice more closely than he had before, and frowned thoughtfully at certain points during the anecdotes Mr Strange told, as if they had some special significance. Once, after a particularly disturbing revelation, he went so far as to pat Mr Strange’s hand sympathetically, though he withdrew his own hand quickly as if fearing he had behaved too familiarly with his friend.

On the third evening of this regimen, the two sat after dinner on the sopha in the library. Mr Strange told yet another tale of his time in Venice, shortly before he had moved the Darkness to Hurtfew Abbey. He admitted that initially his goal at that time had been to take revenge upon his former teacher by outdoing him as a magician.

“Ah, Mr Strange,” said Mr Norrell sadly, “it is no wonder that you still feel the effects of your extreme actions in those frightful months! It will no doubt take you quite some time to entirely escape those effects. I shall help in any way that I possibly can. Do not hesitate to ask me for any thing you wish.”

Mr Strange looked at him sourly. “Sir, in some ways this little holiday has been pleasant, and you have been very kind. Already, though, I miss reading about magic. More importantly, nothing you have asked me to try and nothing you have allowed me to request has given me the one thing that I wish for. Without that, I shall remain melancholy, for there is no magic gone awry or traces of old madness behind my desire. If you truly wish to help me—and yourself, I might add—you will allow me …”

He paused, sighing with frustration. Suddenly he threw his arms around Mr Norrell and kissed him fervently. Oddly enough, Mr Norrell did not struggle or draw away. On the contrary, he suffered Mr Strange to suck ardently at his lips and ultimately to push his tongue far into his mouth. Indeed, Mr Norrell embraced Mr Strange and pulled him even closer than before, which would have seemed impossible.

Finally Mr Strange withdrew slightly, gasping for breath. “Oh, Gilbert, this is exactly what I have longed for! Let me take your trousers down and …”

He abruptly lowered himself to the floor on his knees and pushed Mr Norrell’s legs wide, fumbling at the buttons of his breeches in his haste to undo them. Eventually he freed Mr Norrell’s engorged member, grasped it firmly and moved to lower his mouth onto it.

During all this Mr Norrell had given up all interest in explaining away Mr Strange’s seemingly nonsensical desire for him. The current manifestation of that desire was so very enthusiastic that Mr Norrell began to entertain the possibility that it might actually be genuine. Besides, Mr Strange’s actions were giving him such great pleasure that he did not fathom how he could be expected to reject them.

He grasped Mr Strange’s hands to stop his caresses and said uncertainly, “I realize that I am rather ignorant in such matters, but this does not appear to be preparations to … uh … do what you said you wished to. That is, to …” He struggled with himself for a moment. “… to fuck me.”

Mr Strange raised his head to stare at him. “Well, I was being rather dramatic. I hoped we would work our way up to that. Do you even know fully what that word means?”

“Not precisely, but oh, Mr Strange, you could do anything you want with me … within reason,” he added prudently. He looked adoringly at the other magician’s beautiful face.

“Well … if you are sure. I … must admit, I should desire that of all things. I shall be careful, you may be sure of that. I have done this before, and … I shall treat you as a delicate and rare treasure and will not hurt you any more than I can possibly help. I also promise that you will … Well, before I make that promise, I should ask: Have you, um, given yourself pleasure, that is, touching yourself here?” he brushed a hand over Mr Norrell’s breeches’ front. 

Mr Norrell gasped. “Yes, of course. Many times. Every day, ordinarily. Sometimes more than once. The urge is so distracting that if I am to get any work done at all, I have to … take care of it.”

Mr Strange nodded with a smile. “Ah, as I suspected, you do have such urges! Then I’m quite convinced that my fucking you would give you immense joy. I … well, let us try it, at any rate. I can stop if I hurt you or you don’t like it. Now, we shall need a few things. In order to put this,” he said, gesturing toward his own breeches-front, “inside you, I must have something to lubricate it. Some salve or oil or …”

“Oh, I have some salve. I use it on myself during … those private moments of pleasure that we mentioned.”

He rose, tucked his member back into his small-clothes and walked to his desk, taking a large jar of salve from one of the drawers. Seeing Mr Strange looking at him bemusedly, he said with a little smile, “Um, sometimes the urge comes upon me here and sometimes in bed, so I am prepared for either.” He returned to the fireside and saw that Mr Strange had pulled out his handkerchief and draped it over the arm of the sopha.

Mr Strange was still on his knees, and he dug inside Mr Norrell’s small-clothes and brought out his cock again. “Just some preliminaries,” he said, glancing up, and began to lick and kiss the tip and shaft.

Mr Norrell’s mouth dropped open and his eyes closed with bliss. “Oh, Mr Strange! Oh, that feels marvelous!” He began to sway and placed his hands on Mr Strange’s shoulders to steady himself.

Mr Strange raised his head to look into Mr Norrell’s face, still frigging his erection lightly. He saw the delighted expression on the other magician’s face. He had often daydreamed of causing his dry little colleague to abandon himself to desire, and the sight made him grin.

Soon his own erection was aching, and he urged Mr Norrell to kneel before the sopha and lean forward on it. He made up for their difference in height by putting two cushions under his knees. Mr Strange undid the placket of his breeches and brought out his own rampant member. He stroked it slowly a few times, skimming his fingertips tantalizingly over Mr Norrell’s buttocks, causing the older magician to tremble with anticipation.

Opening the jar and dipping out a generous dollop of salve on two fingers, Mr Strange used his other hand to pull one of Mr Norrell’s buttocks to one side, revealing his puckered opening. Spreading the salve over it, he began to rub gently and eventually to press it with one finger.

Mr Norrell shifted slightly, and he began to pant. “That feels lovely, Mr Strange.” He scooted his knees further apart on the cushions.

“I need to loosen this part of you, Mr Norrell, by putting my fingers inside you and stretching you a little. I’ll start with just one. The sensation will be peculiar, but you must try to relax. That will make all this easier.”

Mr Norrell nodded. He flinched slightly and uttered a little grunt of surprise when Mr Strange’s finger entered him. Mr Strange stopped, but the other magician quickly said, “Go on, Mr Strange.”

Patiently Mr Strange worked to open the tiny passage. Eventually Mr Norrell jerked and let out a startled groan. “Oh, my dear Lord! Mr Strange, what did you just do?”

Mr Strange grinned. “I simply touched a particularly sensitive spot. Would you like me to do so again?”

“Oh, most definitely! Please!”

Mr Strange did so, repeatedly, and Mr Norrell keened, his face twisting in ecstasy.

“God, you feel so good inside! Smooth and warm and tight and slippery. I can’t wait to fuck you!”

Finally he deemed that the hole was sufficiently relaxed, and he coated his member thickly with salve before slowly pushing it inside. He had to stop a couple of times and wait for Mr Norrell to adjust, but soon he was pressing once again on the place that sent jolts of pleasure through the man’s loins. Mr Norrell gripped the sopha cushions and clenched his teeth. 

By now Mr Strange was able to stop worrying so much about hurting Mr Norrell, and he began to focus on his own pleasure, pumping into the incredibly tight heat. Dimly he was aware that Mr Norrell was becoming very noisy, incoherently pleading for more and obviously mounting quickly toward his climax. Mr Strange abandoned all restraint and fucked him harder, reaching around to squeeze Mr Norrell’s cock. Rapture swept over both of them at once, with Mr Strange groaning loudly and Mr Norrell almost sobbing with relief.

After a period in which they remained still, panting until their breathing returned to normal, Mr Strange used the handkerchief to clean them both. They rose and sat side by side, Mr Norrell leaning against Mr Strange. They stared at each other with satisfied little smiles.

Finally Mr Strange said, “That was every bit as wonderful as I had anticipated.”

Mr Norrell replied, “Given that I had little idea what it would be like, it was far, far more wonderful than I could have imagined.”

Mr Strange stroked his cheek. “I am overjoyed that you were so thrilled by it … Gilbert, if I may.”

“Oh, certainly, Mr Strange! That is, I should, um, say … Jonathan.”

Mr Strange kissed him gently and lingeringly. “And you don’t think I was jesting about wanting you?”

“No.”

“Or had inadvertently done magic that caused me to want you?”

“Not at all.”

“Or was still suffering from effects of my Venetian madness?” 

“Wanting pleasure like that seems to me like the height of sanity! I’m very happy, Jonathan, that I did not disappoint you. Given that I am the only option you have under the circumstances.”

Mr Strange cupped his head with his long fingers and stared into his eyes with a very affectionate gaze. “Gilbert, I am beginning to think that you are the best option I could have under any circumstances!”


End file.
